


Crosses

by staticbees



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Ghosts, church is... definitely dead., i guess, just a near-death experience type thing, takes place during the chorus trilogy, tucker's not actually dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: “I, uh… I'm sorry I didn't go back,” he tells Church, the words catching in his throat. “Before the emp went off, I mean.”Church stares at him for a moment, and Tucker freezes, wondering if he's said the wrong thing. Then the other soldier shakes his head, slowly, incredulously. “You actually blame yourself for that? There's nothing you could've done."





	Crosses

**Author's Note:**

> The title and lyrics at the beginning are from Crosses by Jose Gonzalez.

_Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you,_

_Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you._

_Returning nightmares, only shadows,_

_We'll cast some light and you'll be alright._

_We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now._

 

_Crosses all over the boulevard._

_The streets outside your window over-flooded,_

_People staring. They know you've been broken;_

_Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces._

_Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright._

_We'll cast some light and you'll be alright._

 

 

 

 

Everything is blurry and faded around the edges, like an aged photograph curling at the corners, and Tucker can feel dirt crumbling under his hands, warm fingers digging into the earth. The air around him is thick and he feels sluggish and tired, like a heavy weight is pressing down on his back.

 

As he becomes more aware of his surroundings, the world around him sharpens into focus, and he stands up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight.

 

He’s standing in the middle of Blood Gulch in full power armor, teal paint chipped and flaking. There’s something off about the dusty box canyon around him, an incessant tug in the back of his mind warning him that this is _wrong_ , _he’s not supposed to be here_ , but he ignores it, focuses on steadying his ragged breaths.

 

A bead of sweat runs down his forehead, and he longs to wipe it away, but he can’t take his helmet off unless he’s back inside the base, and he’s out here for a reason. What the reason is, he can’t quite remember, but he’s sure it’s important.

 

 _You aren't really back in Blood Gulch, you know._ _It's just a memory_.

 

Someone clears their throat near him, and he whips around, reaching for a sword that isn’t there. Church is leaning against the Blue base, his pale blue armor glinting in the sunlight.

 

“Oh, it’s just you,” Tucker says, relaxing. “I thought you were a Red.”

 

Church’s voice is nonchalant as he turns towards Tucker, helmet bobbing slightly as he speaks. “Nah, the Reds never come over here. Besides, there’s not that many over there,” he adds, nodding towards Red base. “Just some Spanish robot who keeps trying to tell me that his name is ‘Dos.0’. Dunno what the fuck that means, but whatever. He’s basically Lopez, anyway.”

 

Tucker looks at the Red base, noticing for the first time how devoid of activity it is. There are no squabbling soldiers standing on the roof, no Sarge screaming insults at them from afar. Other than the soft whistle of wind, the canyon is quiet, and Tucker shivers, unsettled by the silence.

 

“It seems kinda lonely here,” he remarks, glancing around at the empty canyon.

 

“Yeah, well, you get used to it. Besides, Tex is here too. Sometimes. Sometimes she leaves for a few days.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure where the fuck she goes, but she always comes back eventually.”

 

Tucker hesitates for a moment, focusing his gaze on the clouds directly above him, drifting through the icy blue sky like snow drifts.

 

_This isn't real. It's just a dream._

 

“I, uh… I'm sorry I didn't go back,” he tells Church, the words catching in his throat. “Before the emp went off, I mean.”

 

Church stares at him for a moment, and Tucker freezes, wondering if he's said the wrong thing. Then the other soldier shakes his head, slowly, incredulously. “You actually blame yourself for that? There's nothing you could've done.

 

“Besides, at least here, I don't have to deal with Caboose,” he adds flatly. Then he pauses. “How is that idiot, anyway?”

 

Tucker sighs slightly. “It’s a _really_ long story.”

 

Church scoffs. “Dead, remember? I've got time.”

 

Tucker takes a deep breath, and begins to talk.

 

His memories of the time from Washington getting imprisoned to meeting Epsilon are a rush of formalities and diplomats and delegates, all blending together in his mind. He describes them as best he can, but by now he doesn’t remember half of the Sangheilli sects he met with, and he can tell Church is getting bored.

 

Tucker doesn't need to tell him about the desert. About the long, painful months with no one but himself for company. About how he ran on tasteless army rations and water, conserving every last drop. About how he was under constant siege from C.T and his team. They're not that important to the story, and most of it is a blur anyway, so he brushes it off with a wave of his hand and moves onto more pressing topics.

 

When he gets to Epsilon, he hunches his shoulders, avoiding Church’s eyes. The other soldier tenses up as he speaks, all sharp edges and shattered glass.

 

_Not real. Just a dream._

 

He cuts in after a moment, and Tucker can hear frost creeping into his voice. “You fucking _replaced_ me? With _him_?” He can feel Church’s glare from behind his helmet.

 

“He's just a memory,” Tucker replies bluntly. “He shaped himself around what Caboose wanted him to be, but he's changed. We all have. He isn't really you.”

 

Church relaxes slightly, but Tucker can tell he’s still on edge, arms crossed and helmet tilted sideways. Tucker shifts uncomfortably, eyes downcast.  

 

“Listen, we-” He cuts himself off, sighing. “ _I_ needed him. I still do. Caboose would’ve been fucking devastated if you’d died and hadn’t come back, and honestly, I would’ve been too. I _know_ he isn’t you, and I know he can’t fill the hole you left behind, but he does a damn good job of filling in the cracks.” Tucker pauses. “God, I sound like Donut,” he adds, horrified.

 

Church is still for a moment, before his shoulders begin to shake with silent laughter. Tucker glares at him. “Holy fuck,” Church gasps out, “-you really do. He must be- he must be rubbing off on you.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Tucker retorts. On any other occasion he would have cracked a joke about Church’s choice of words, but for now he keeps his mouth shut. He realizes with a dawning horror that he's actually trying to hold back a smile, despite the fact that there’s no way Church could see it through his helmet. He’s missed this; their casual bickering, untouched by Freelancers and evil A.I and emps and whatever else the universe decided to throw their way.

 

_It's just a dream._

 

Tucker sits down on the rough ground, leaning his back on the warm metal of Blue base, his hands pressed into the earth beside him. He grins as Church sinks down and joins him, albeit reluctantly, one knee drawn up to his chest and the other kicked out in front of him. They sit there in silence for a moment, staring up at the burning sun above them.

 

The quiet is strangely welcoming, and Tucker thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, this place isn’t as bad as he had thought. After all, if you have to spend the rest of your life in a memory, you might as well make it a good one.

 

“You can't stay here, you know,” Church says finally, as if he’s reading Tucker’s thoughts.

 

_You can't live in your mind forever._

 

Tucker scowls. “And why the fuck can't I?” he demands, getting up. “It's sure as hell better here than out _there_ , on fucking _Chorus_!”

 

“Because you don't belong here, jackass.” Church sighs. “Not like I do.”

 

“And what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?!” Tucker bursts out.

 

“It _means_ you still have a fucking life to live! Don't throw that away just because you want to stay in a shitty _box canyon_ in the middle of fucking _nowhere_!”

 

“Why the fuck do you care?” he asks snidely. “ _You're_ already dead.”

 

“Don't you think if I had a chance to live again _,_ I’d take it?!” Church yells, hands clenched into tight fists by his sides.

 

Tucker freezes, swallows down a biting response. “...yeah.”

 

Church looks sharply at him, surprised by Tucker’s admission. “Oh. I… wasn’t expecting you to actually agree with me.”

 

Tucker shrugs. “Well, you _do_ have a point, dude. I just… I don’t know.” He exhales, shoulders slumping. “I guess I just thought that maybe...”

 

 _Why hesitate? It's not like anything will come of telling him. He's already_ dead.

 

He pauses, glancing at Church. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”

 

Church sighs. “Look, man, this place isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, okay? I mean, I know I’m great and all, but… you deserve better, alright?”

 

“...that sounded kinda gay, dude.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Tucker, I’m trying to be cool and emotional here while I still can.”

 

“‘While you still can?’ What the fuck is that cryptic-” Tucker clutches his head, wincing at the sudden aching pain in his temples. His mind feels foggy, and he draws in a harsh breath. “I- what-”

 

“I told you,” Church tells him, voice muted and distant, like he’s underwater, “You can’t stay here.”

 

Tucker forces his gaze up to where the other soldier stands, and stumbles backwards, eyes wide in horror. Church looks indistinct and hazy, like a faded painting, and Tucker’s breath hitches.

 

_Just a dream._

 

“You prick, don’t fucking leave me-” he begins, the words jagged and painful in his throat.

 

Church turns away, faint blue light trailing behind him as he moves, like the remnants of a holographic projection. His form flickers in the harsh sunlight. “I’m sorry.”

 

The world around Tucker is folding in, collapsing like a black hole, and his vision grows dim. His lips feel numb, the low drone of static buzzing in his ears.

 

“No, wait-” he chokes out, reaching his hand towards Church as the world slips away. He falls into darkness, desperate words cut short.

 

 

 

 

“Tucker? Tucker! Tucker, wake up!”

 

Epsilon’s voice cuts through the darkness, and Tucker groans, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

 

His mouth is painfully dry and his eyelids feel sticky and crusted, the smell of old copper pennies saturating the air. His chest throbs with an aching pain, and he can feel rough cloth wrapped around his right hand. His head is foggy, and there are feel faint tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, as if he’s just woken from a bad dream.

 

He opens his eyes to a harsh white light, and hastily shuts them again, the bright glow sending stabs of pain through his head.

 

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake,” Carolina says. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it.”

 

He cracks his eyes open, and flinches back from Doctor Grey, who’s standing uncomfortably close to his face. There’s a thin blanket draped over him, and he’s wearing a loose-fitting hospital gown decorated with a pale blue floral print. The walls around him are stark and clinical, a monochrome of white, and fluorescent bulbs illuminate the room.

 

Carolina stands behind Grey, Epsilon hovering above her shoulder. Caboose and the Reds are next to her, helmets off. Caboose’s dark curly hair is tousled and there’s a slight frown on his face, like he’s disappointed that Tucker’s awake. Simmons and Grif are quietly bickering in the corner, Simmons’ robot eye glowing a vivid red as he speaks. He hears Sarge mutter something about ‘dirty blues’, but the Red soldier looks relieved nonetheless.

 

“What- what happened?” he asks blearily, still trying to get his bearings.

 

“You got injured during a patrol,” Grey informs him cheerfully. “You’ve been out for almost a day now!”

 

“You’re in the hospital of the Federal Army of Chorus,” Carolina says. “The Feds have better supplies and weapons than the News, and it made more sense to take you here instead, even though they’re merged now.”

 

Tucker’s gaze goes towards a pile of wrinkled clothes sitting on a chair near him. “We figured you might want to get dressed before leaving,” Epsilon says, deadpan.

 

Tucker nods, and watches as they leave to give him privacy. He winces as his bare feet hit the cold metal floor, sending shooting pains up his legs, a harsh reminder of how close he had gotten to never waking up again. The clothes they’ve set out for him consist of a simple teal tank top, blue jeans and plain grey socks, old fashioned but comfortable. He stuffs the sneakers onto his feet and stands up, ready to join the others outside.

 

Before he leaves, he could swear that he sees a glint of pale blue armor, and hears a hushed whisper, mingled with the low hum of the hospital.

 

_I always hated you the least._


End file.
